Do you think they can see us wandering aimlessly down here?

The sun was smiling warmly Tuesday morning as Annie and I purposefully marched down the Cours Mirabeau-- narrowly avoiding a woman struggling with bags full of fresh market produce and a troop of schoolchildren following their teacher in pairs and chatting animatedly.

Annie and I had a goal-- Le Parc de la Torse-- known for its meandering river and rustic jogging paths just outside the main city centre of Aix.

After navigating the crowded street, we followed our map down a quiet road without the noise and bustle of the city centre. We could faintly hear the sounds of a stream gurgling over stones, and knew our destination was close.

Through gates on the right of the road, we saw a path that looked every bit of the word "rustic".

"I think its in here, lets go!" I said to Annie.

Annie nodded her head in agreement, and we veered right.

We quickly discovered that the path dead ended, but we could see the stream on the other side of an ivy-covered fence.

"Let's go back out, go a little further down, and I'm sure we'll run into it." I said.

As we turned around, we let out a simultaneous "Uh-Oh!". The gate we hadn't paid much attention to on our way in was now firmly closed. And locked. The suspected park was actually a private place of business, and we were stuck.

We wandered around for ten minutes, hoping for gaps in the fence or a scale-able wall. We could see a person in the topmost floor of the building faintly through the window.

"Do you think they can see us wandering aimlessly down here, and are laughing at the 'stupide americains!'?" I asked Annie.

"Probably. They're definitely laughing. Do you think we should go knock and ask them for help?"

The offer was tempting, but my pride and desire to not be a 'stupide americain!' exceeded my willingness to accept help or have a conversation about our mistake in French.

After a more thorough search, we discovered a concrete wall that blocked the building from the street. A mound of dirt and leaves made the climb up possible, but looking at the jump down was daunting.

I waited for a gap in the street traffic, quickly hoisted myself up the wall, then lowered myself down the wall, brushing the dirt off my hands as I hastily landed on my feet (barely!). Annie did the same. We looked at each other, then looked around the street, hoping no one had witnessed our escape from private property.

If the French have a James Bond who is slightly clumsy and happens to get himself awkwardly trapped in deceivingly park-like gardens-- that is me and Annie.

When we finally made it to the park, we took a quick glimpse (the path was rustic and the stream was meandering) then walked the 1.5 miles home for Annie's 10:00 class.

Although it was not truly dangerous, nor very exciting, I'm glad Annie and I had a mini-adventure. It reminds me that I have no idea what I'm doing here, and probably won't, for a long time.